The Urchin's Song Part 6

They had talked till gone one in the morning and when they'd realised what the time was, neither of them had been able to believe it was so late. Josie had found herself telling Barney all sorts of things she'd never revealed to anyone else; the misery and shame of her beginnings when she'd been forced to beg just to survive; her father's brutality to them all and the times she could recall her mother being black and blue after one of his drunken bouts; her worry about the lads and the road her father was setting them on . . . And he, in his turn, had spoken of the horror which had gripped him the first time he had gone underground, the feeling that he was buried alive and the silent screaming in his head which had filled his ears with a deafening sound until he hadn't known who he was or how to breathe.

It had been good that night, very good, Josie reflected now as she watched Barney frowning at the constable who had called to tell them the latest progress in the case. With her father apparently having vanished from the face of the earth, and Jimmy and Hubert following in his footsteps two days after the attack on Josie - something which made Josie and her mother, along with Vera and others in the know confident that Bart had spirited the lads away to quieter sh.o.r.es until the furore had died down - Vera had insisted that s.h.i.+rley move into the house in Northumberland Place for the time being, and had arranged for the family's meagre collection of furniture to be stored with a friend of hers.

Consequently, and for the first time since arriving in Newcastle, Josie's mind was at peace about her mother's well-being, and this had affected her whole att.i.tude towards the attack.

Not so Barney. And it was Barney who now repeated, his voice urgent as he stared into the patient face of the middle-aged policeman, 'Surely someone knows something? I just don't believe two men and two lads can disappear so completely without someone seeing them or knowing where they are hiding. Josie's father is well known in the East End, like this Duffy bloke. It's one thing for Josie's brothers to drop out of sight - one bairn is much like another - but not so the two men. Not from what Josie's told me about them, anyway. And don't forget I was here that night they had a go at the la.s.s, and nasty isn't the word for 'em. They can't be allowed to get away with it. Someone knows where they are; I'd bet my life on it.'

'If they do, they're not saying, lad.' The constable forbore to mention that with Patrick Duffy's name featuring in this incident, he hadn't expected anything else, from what his colleagues in Sunderland had known about the Irishman in question. Big fish in a little pond, had been the general comment, but a fish with sharp teeth and a long memory. True, the la.s.s had never actually seen Duffy's face - only her da's - but she'd been adamant the other man involved in the skirmish had been Patrick Duffy. That being the case, all tracks would have been well and truly covered, and although the mention of that particular name had taken the incident beyond one of a normal domestic fracas, it had also immediately presented a new set of problems.

'I don't believe this.' Barney sat back in his chair, his good-looking face set in a scowl of frustration. 'Her da tried to kidnap her, for cryin' out loud, and the man's violent as well as everything else! You know what he did to her sisters.'

'We know what Miss Burns told us he did to her sisters,' the constable corrected gently, and as Barney reared up in his seat and opened his mouth, the policeman continued, 'And I'm not saying we don't believe this young lady, far from it, but believing is no good without proof, Mr Robson. Even the young lady's mother hasn't got that. And as for this other . . . gentleman, Mr Duffy, being involved, there are any number of folk who can confirm that he spent all that night in a certain public house in the East End of Sunderland, before retiring with a Mr and Mrs Gibson to their house in Bishopwearmouth, the latter being his sister, apparently.'

'It was Patrick Duffy who helped my father, Constable Skelton.' Josie spoke from her seat on the settle which had been pulled close to the glowing fire. 'I didn't have to see him to know that. The smell of him, his voice . . .' She shuddered. 'It was him all right, and you've Barney's description to go on too.'

'It was dark in the hallway and the lamp had been kicked over, Miss Burns,' the constable said quietly, his voice reflecting his dislike of what he had to point out. 'Mr Robson said the gentleman in question was of a small build and wiry, from the glimpse he had of him once he had dealt with your father. Half the men of Newcastle meet that description, I'm afraid. Mr and Mrs Gibson and several other folk insist Mr Duffy was with them all evening. According to Mrs Gibson, the next morning her brother left for urgent business Hartlepool way, but she has no specific address we can contact him at.'

'How convenient.' This was from Barney and it was bitter. 'And I suppose Josie's father accompanied him on this "business"?'

'Not to our knowledge, but that could well be the case.'

Barney now closed his eyes and bowed his head, shaking it slowly from side to side three or four times before he said, 'And I thought the law was supposed to protect the innocent! Well, you live an' learn as they say.' He raised his head and looked into the policeman's stolid face. 'The pair of 'em will get away with this, that's what you're saying at heart, isn't it? Well, all I can say is that if Bart Burns or this other feller are found in a dark alley one night with bootmarks all over them, don't be surprised.'

'I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Mr Robson.' The policeman's face had lost its understanding look and had become stiff. He now rose to his feet, nodding at Betty who was sitting next to Josie on the settle. 'Thank you for the tea, Mrs Robson,' and to Frank in his armchair, 'Good night, Mr Robson,' and then, his gaze mellowing, he bent down to Josie and said quietly, 'Don't you worry now, la.s.s. They won't try this again, not now they know we're on to 'em. You'll be quite safe.'

Josie smiled at the policeman but said nothing. He meant well, but she had lived in the East End for twelve years and was well aware there were two worlds outside the four walls of this house. One was the normal, day-to-day existence that Betty and Frank and people like them enjoyed, and the other was the subterranean world of the likes of Duffy and her da. That world lived by its own rules. She agreed with Barney on this; her da and Patrick Duffy would get away with trying to s.n.a.t.c.h Gertie and herself because they were more cunning than this kind-faced man in front of her and others like him.

But she'd been warned now, and she would be on her guard. She'd already got Betty to make her up a little bag of pepper that she intended to carry with her everywhere. One or two of the painted dock dollies who had frequented the pubs she'd sung in in Sunderland had used pepper thrown in a violent customer's face for protection and it was lethal stuff. And she would keep the poker close to hand too when she could. Gertie was being taken to and from school by an ever-vigilant Betty, and Frank was forgoing his usual pint with his cronies in the Singing Fox and not budging from the house once he was home from the pit. And Barney . . . Barney was just kindness itself.

As Betty showed the policeman out, Josie let her mind wander. Barney had arrived home the night before with a magazine called The People's Friend for her and a bag of whipped cream bon-bons. It wasn't the first time since the attack he'd done something similar. They'd talked till way into the night again - they'd had some right good cracks over the last ten days when it was just the two of them. She had known Barney was nice before, and he had always made her laugh on the journey to and from the laundry, but Prudence had been with them then. Somehow, over the last little while, she felt she'd seen a side to him no one else had. But then she was probably just being silly, she warned herself quickly. He'd be the same with Pearl, of course he would - caring, kind, funny and warm. It was just because of the attack that he was being extra nice now; sitting up late with her when he knew she wasn't tired enough to go to bed.

Anyway, there was nothing in his manner to suggest he saw her as anything but a bairn, even if they had become such good friends recently. And come Sat.u.r.day he would be Pearl's . . . Josie's large, heavily lashed eyes darkened and she watched Barney's face as he talked with his father. He'd be Pearl's; they'd be man and wife and committed to spending the rest of their lives together.

Pearl had come to visit her when she'd still been confined to bed and Josie had to admit she'd found the visit a strain. The other girl had been effusive in her condolences, and she'd brought a bottle of her mother's special cherry-flavoured tonic - 'to build you up, you poor little thing' - but the smile on the bow-shaped mouth hadn't reached the pale-blue eyes. And she didn't know if she was imagining it, Josie reflected, but there had been a couple of things Pearl had said, or perhaps it wasn't the words she'd used exactly but a certain inflexion in her voice, that had suggested Pearl considered she ought to be up and about and back to normal.

But Pearl was bonny. Oh aye, she was bonny all right, and she'd been beautifully dressed, right down to her brown kid boots which had been of fine quality. Finer than any Josie had seen before anyway.

Perhaps Pearl disliked her because Barney had been so involved in trying to find Patrick Duffy and her da in the lead-up to the wedding? Or maybe it was because Pearl thought Josie was the cause of Prudence leaving the household? She understood from Betty that the two girls had been close friends since they were bairns. Josie suddenly realised where her thoughts were taking her. She'd had the feeling that Barney's fiancee didn't like her, but now she allowed the thought free rein she knew it was true.

All the time Pearl had been in the house in Spring Garden Lane she had acted as though she was a cut above the rest of them; Josie had understood why Betty's private nickname for her stepson's future wife was 'd.u.c.h.ess' once she'd met Pearl. And Pearl's parents had really gone to town with the wedding; closing the pub for the night and hiring fiddlers and a melodeon player and all sorts. It would be a grand do.

Josie shrugged off the mood of depression which had accompanied these thoughts, irritated with herself for feeling that way. She glanced across again at Barney and his father, her eyes resting on the younger man's strong, springy brown hair and wholesome young face, and then, as Betty bustled back into the kitchen bewailing the fact that it was snowing again, Josie picked up the darning she had been attending to when the policeman had called.

He was wed.

As Josie entered the warmth of the inn which was redolent with rich smells from the kitchen, her head was high and she was holding on tight to the twins' hands. Martin and Kenneth had already disgraced themselves that day by putting a frog down little Freda's neck halfway through the church service. The resulting pandemonium had caused Mrs Harper to ask for smelling salts and Pearl to look as though she'd like to do murder. But all Josie could think of was that now Barney and Pearl were wed. And Pearl looked bonny, so bonny in the white satin dress and lacy veil, the tight-laced waist showing off her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath their glossy covering. Josie looked down at her own small burgeoning b.r.e.a.s.t.s which didn't even swell the material of her smart coat, and her mouth drooped, only to lift almost instantly as she heard her mam's voice somewhere behind her in the throng spilling into the inn.

It had been a lovely surprise, Vera bringing her mam with her today. And even though her mam looked white and peaky, and Vera had said she'd been having a mustard poultice on her chest each morning and inhaling eucalyptus oil for the cough that was with her night and day, she seemed happier than Josie had ever seen her. Which wasn't surprising in the circ.u.mstances. The relief of not having Bart around had been evident in her mother's eyes when they had hugged each other earlier, and her mam had said how good Vera and Horace were to her.

Her thoughts roamed on as she pushed the twins down on to a long bench at the side of the room and warned them to sit still, before raising her hand in greeting to Vera and her mam and the others who had entered the inn in a small group. She couldn't wait to look for a new job; she would do so as soon as she had seen the doctor on Monday. She hadn't paid Vera back for the clothes yet, and she owed Betty two weeks' board, and now there was her mother to think about too. She couldn't let Vera look after her mam for nothing. But how on earth was she going to do it all? Jobs were scarce, certainly for bit la.s.ses - unless she went into service. Perhaps she'd have to do that, even though she hated the thought of it. She'd rather try Haggie Brothers at South Sh.o.r.e than go into service. They included lots of women and la.s.ses among their hundreds of employees in rope- and wire-making, but Betty had been aghast when Josie had mentioned trying there. Haggie's Angels, as they were known locally, were notorious for their ripe language. However, Josie was sure she'd heard as bad in the pubs in the East End, and the thought of service - of having to bend the knee and bob the head to all and sundry - seemed worse than even Prudence and the laundry.

The thought of Barney's sister brought Josie's eyes across the room to where Prudence was standing with Pearl's parents - for all the world like royalty - and in the moment or two before Vera and Betty and all the others reached Josie's corner, Prudence turned her head and looked straight at her. It was an icy cold look, nasty; a look which spoke volumes all by itself. However, Josie had been expecting nothing less and she found herself returning the glare as she lifted her chin, hotly aware that Prudence had no jurisdiction over her now her days at the laundry were past. And it was Prudence who looked away first; sweeping her head round in a haughty gesture which didn't sit well with her small dumpy figure and nondescript appearance.

The large room at the back of the inn, originally a supper room but now used for general purposes, had been decorated for the bridal meal, and once everyone had walked through and seated themselves, the meal commenced amid much laughter and conversation. It was generally agreed Stanley and Marjorie had done their daughter proud. Chops, kidneys, poached eggs, welsh rarebits, mealy potatoes baked in their jackets, rabbit pie, f.a.ggots, pig's pudding, mussels and whelks . . . The mountain of food was enormous, and the jugs of beer on the tables were replenished as soon as they were emptied, along with those of lemonade for the bairns and teetotallers, although of the abstainers there was barely a handful.

As the afternoon progressed and the beer flowed, the laughing and shouting grew louder. Once the three fiddlers and the melodeon player had arrived, the tables were cleared and pulled back and the dancing began, Barney and his new wife taking the floor first and then other couples following their lead. Some of the older people who didn't want to dance, like Vera and her mam and Barney's parents, had wandered back into the first room where a roaring fire was blazing in the blackleaded range at one side of the long s.h.i.+ny wooden bar. Marjorie Harper and a woman who looked to be her sister were asking who wanted a cup of tea, and although Josie didn't want to remain in this room she did so. It was preferable to seeing Barney and Pearl wrapped in each other's arms. For some reason the sight was paining her.

She talked to her mother and Vera; kept Betty's brood under control; made sure Gertie was in a warm seat by the fire - her sister having been up all night with earache had been dosed with a diluted mixture of belladonna by Betty, and was sitting with a warm flannel pressed to the affected part - and generally made herself useful. She didn't, however, offer to help in the kitchen with the was.h.i.+ng up, having seen Prudence ensconced in there with Pearl's mother and some other women, when she'd been on her way to the privy. In all the time she'd been staying with Betty, to her knowledge Prudence had never once washed any dishes, and yet she had been up to her elbows in suds for Pearl's mother.

Later that evening the tables were pushed into place again and a supper of sausages and mash with baked onions and turnips was served. Josie only nibbled at her portion; she was tired and could feel every one of the bruises she'd received a couple of weeks earlier, added to which her head was aching.

'Ee, la.s.s, I canna remember when I've enjoyed meself so much.' Her mother's voice was soft at the side of her. 'An' the bairn looks better, don't you think?' she added, nodding across the table at Gertie who was busy tucking into her sausages and mash, the earache apparently having vanished.

Josie opened her mouth to agree but the words were never voiced. Her mother was overtaken by a paroxysm of coughing that seemed to go on and on, and when it had finished and she removed her handkerchief from her lips, the cloth was stained bright red in places.

'Mam!'

'It's nothin', me bairn, nothin'.' s.h.i.+rley had tried to secrete the handkerchief away before Josie had seen it, and now she stuffed it quickly into her pocket, adding, 'I've had a bit of phlegm on me chest, that's all, but it's movin' now. I'll be as right as rain come next week. An' I live the life of Lady Muck at Vera's; aye, I do that. Won't let me lift a finger, bless her, so don't you go worryin' your head about a bit cough, now then. You've more than enough on your plate. Where you thinkin' of tryin' for work, hinny?'

Only partially rea.s.sured, Josie told her mother about Haggie Brothers, mentioning Betty's objection in a low undertone. Her mother raised worldly eyebrows. 'Well, la.s.s, all I can say is that I've heard what you call bad language an' it's bin like "G.o.d bless you" at heart, an' other times them as wouldn't soil their lips with a "d.a.m.nation" can make your flesh creep with a "good mornin' ".'

Josie nodded. She knew exactly what her mother meant. Prudence was mealy-mouthed in the extreme.

It was a full hour later when Josie, focused on taking Freda to the privy before the little girl wet herself for the umpteenth time that day, b.u.mped into Prudence just as she stepped into the pub yard. The moon was high, its white light gleaming on the frost-covered cobbles, and over the gabled windows of the pub translucent icicles had formed, tapering to sharp frozen points. It was a bitterly cold night, but as Josie looked into Prudence's narrowed gaze, the temperature dropped even further.

Josie was conscious of the muted din from within the pub, Freda hopping from foot to foot at the side of her and the sound of a tram clanking along outside the yard somewhere on Barrack Road, but for now she was taken up with the resentment staring out of the muddy green eyes in front of her. Prudence made a small inarticulate sound low in her throat before she hissed, 'You! Acting as though b.u.t.ter wouldn't melt in your mouth all day!'

Josie's eyes grew larger for a second as she gazed back into the angry face, and then she pulled herself together and said crisply, 'Freda needs the privy. Excuse me.' For a moment she thought Prudence was going to continue to block her way, but then the older girl moved aside, her eyes not leaving Josie's face for a moment, and Josie hurried the squirming Freda into the dark dank little box across the yard.

She wasn't surprised to see Prudence waiting for her when she and Freda emerged, and after urging the little girl to go and find her mother she opened the back door for her before turning to face Prudence again. 'What do you want?' she asked calmly and steadily.

Josie could tell her manner had both astonished and disconcerted the young woman in front of her. Barney's sister had probably expected her to shy away from any confrontation, but now Prudence no longer dwelt at the house in Spring Garden Lane and Josie had finished with the laundry for good, she saw no reason to try to humour the other girl.

For her part Prudence was experiencing acute irritation at the sound of Josie's voice. She'd noticed this before, Josie's ability to control and modulate her voice, and it had never rankled so much as now. This was just a young la.s.s of twelve or thirteen and from what she'd heard, Josie had never had the benefit of much of an education. How dared she act as though she was somebody?

The two girls stared at each other for a moment, and then Prudence's voice was bitter when she said, 'You think you've got them all in the palm of your hand, don't you? All that fuss because your da came to take you home which is where you should be in the first place. If you'd just agreed to go quietly back with him that would've been an end to the matter but no, not you. Madam Burns has to go and upset everybody. And now Barney's fallen out with me and it's all your fault.'

Josie looked into the plain fat face and wondered if Prudence was really so deluded that she didn't know what she had done. But then what did Prudence know of the likes of Patrick Duffy and his kind? She'd been brought up in a decent family surrounded by good honest folk. Prudence might spout on about social reform and all the other things she had a bee in her bonnet about but really, Josie reflected, she'd lived in clover all her life compared to some of the poor wretches in Sunderland's East End.

'My da didn't come to take me home, Prudence,' Josie said coolly, her voice holding the barest quiver. 'Don't you even understand that? He's not like your da, he doesn't care about me or any of us. He would have done the same to Gertie as he did to my other sisters, and he's angry with me because I stopped him. His only intention in coming to Newcastle and bringing that other man with him was to harm us.'

'Huh!' Prudence glared into the beautiful face in front of her, her thin nostrils flaring. 'So says you. Well, I don't believe you, see? You might have got Aunt Vera to swallow your story along with the rest of them, but not me. No da would do what you said yours had done to his own bairns. If your sisters went down that road they likely decided to do it themselves.'

'That's not true.' Josie knew Betty had told her stepchildren the full facts relating to Josie and Gertie's sudden arrival on their doorstep. Prudence was seeing only what she wanted to see, likely as much to a.s.suage her secret guilt at how things had turned out as anything. And she must be missing Barney more than a little.

And then any faint stirrings of sympathy went flying out of the window when Prudence took a step towards her and hissed, 'It is true! Your sisters are sc.u.m, you're sc.u.m, the whole lot of you. And your mam is an' all. Sponging off Aunt Vera now, isn't she?'

Josie fought to gain control of herself. She wanted to smack the other girl's face and shout at her that her mam was the best person in the world, but somehow she knew that was exactly what Prudence expected her to do. And then Barney's sister would have won. Well, she wouldn't give Prudence the satisfaction of seeing how much her spiteful words had hurt her. 'What a truly stupid person you are, Prudence,' she said shakily, and then - quite unwittingly and only because she'd been searching for something to say so Prudence wouldn't have the last word - Josie hit upon the secret fear which had been eating away at the other girl for months. 'My mam is staying with Vera because Vera wants her,' she said emphatically. 'They're friends, real friends - but you can't understand that, can you? The only people who have ever bothered with you are Barney and Pearl, and now they're married they won't want you tagging along any more.'

She had turned on her heel and opened the door to the pub before Prudence could respond, banging it behind her as she marched through into the small narrow hall which led to the supper room.

Prudence stood quite still where Josie had left her, the angry colour in her cheeks draining away and leaving her sallow skin an even more unattractive colour. She didn't know she was twisting her hands together, over and over, until the rubbing of her skin became painful, and then she forced herself to stop, staring up into the breathtakingly cold sky for a full minute without moving. And then she turned, very deliberately, and looked towards the pub door. She had everything, Josie Burns. There wasn't a man alive who wouldn't want her when she was a bit older; even now they were drawn to her like bees round a honey pot. Look at her da, fussing over her like an old woman, and Barney was the same. She had thought Barney was her friend as well as her brother, but since that little chit had come into the house he had changed. The hot thoughts bit into her mind like drops of acid but she fought the inclination to cry, drawing great draughts of the icy air deep into her lungs as she listened to the sounds of merriment from within the building.

What would that chit say, what would any of them say, if they knew that the only thing she had ever wanted from when she'd been a small bairn was to be married and have bairns of her own? Laugh their heads off, most likely. The only little la.s.s among four lads, you'd have thought her da would have made something of her, wouldn't you? But he never had. No, he never had. In fact, he had always acted as though he didn't like her, even before Betty came on the scene. But she'd known by then she was as plain as a pikestaff. Bairns were cruel and school could be a lonely, frightening place when no one wanted to be your partner for the walk round the playground before prayers in the morning. Porker Prudence, one of the more imaginative wits had called her in her first week of school, and the rest of them had taken it up immediately, thinking it a great joke, and she'd been Porker until the day she left.

Her eyes were burningly dry now, the subtle torture of those far-off days very real again. Pearl had come to the school six months after she'd first started when her mam and da had bought the pub at the end of their street, and perhaps because everyone else had got their own particular pal by then, Pearl hadn't rebuffed Prudence's tentative overtures of friends.h.i.+p. And of course the lads had always made much of Pearl; she'd been a pretty little la.s.sie even at five years of age. And so she had had her friend at last; someone to whisper and giggle and play with, and with Barney to talk to, she shouldn't have had to continue to fight against the loneliness which constantly a.s.sailed her, should she? But she had. All her life she had. And now the only two people to show her friends.h.i.+p were married, which made everything different. Josie's parting shot burned in her mind and it was another minute or two before Prudence went into the house.

If Prudence had but known it, the confrontation had upset Josie as much as herself. Once Josie was back inside the warmth of the pub she realised she needed a few minutes to compose herself before she returned to her seat with the others.

Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. Josie glanced around the room at the flushed faces and wondered why she was feeling so low. It wasn't because of the altercation with Prudence, nasty though that had been. She had been feeling like this all day. It had started as a gradual thing, when she'd first woken up, and then intensified as the day had progressed. Strange, really, how another person's excitement and joy could make you feel just the opposite, but that's how it had been since she had first seen Barney at breakfast that morning.

He had been sitting in old but clean clothes - his wedding suit and polished boots hanging in splendid isolation in the scullery with a starched darned sheet draped over them - and he had smiled at her as she'd come into the kitchen. 'Last meal of freedom.' His smile had widened as he'd spoken.

'You don't seem as if you mind,' she'd answered lightly.

'Too late now if he does.' Betty had bustled her way from the oven with a steaming dish of baked b.u.t.tered herrings and a round of stottie cake cooked fresh that morning, and to the twins' oohs of delight she'd said, 'Special weddin' meal in honour of your brother, all right? I don't expect we'll be eatin' very early what with the service an' all.'

Barney had hummed his way through his breakfast and, having risen to go upstairs, had ruffled Josie's hair as he'd pa.s.sed, saying, 'Now don't forget, you're not to be a stranger to our door, you an' Gertie.' Josie had smiled but said nothing, and he'd continued on his way humming 'Blaydon Races', which coincidentally was the song the fiddlers were playing at the moment. One of Barney's friends was singing very loudly and rather tunelessly in the middle of the room, finis.h.i.+ng to a round of enthusiastic clapping. Thus encouraged he went on to perform 'Champagne Charlie' with an imaginary cane and eyegla.s.s, and then 'The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze', before making way for a small child with golden ringlets. After she had finished reciting a short but heartrending poem about a sailor lost at sea and his last thoughts of his wife and family before he sank under the waves, again concluding to a round of loud applause, the cry went up for more turns.

'Come on now, don't be shy!' As fresh jugs of foaming beer were brought in, Stanley's voice was hearty. 'It's a grand night for a bit carry on, eh, Marj?' He accompanied the last words with a nod and a wink at his spouse, and the icy look his good lady wife sent his way sobered him up quicker than a bucketful of cold water, much to the amus.e.m.e.nt of most of the men present.

Whether it was the fact that something of an awkward pause in the merriment had occurred, or because Josie was still smarting from the exchange with Prudence, or because she wanted to sing for her mother and bring a smile to her face, or simply that she had missed her singing more than she'd realised up to that moment, Josie wasn't sure. But somehow she found herself squeezing past one of the tables into the middle of the room and looking shyly at Barney's new father-in-law as she said, 'I can sing a song, Mr Harper.'

'Is that so, la.s.s?' Stanley Harper recognised the slim la.s.sie in front of him as the one who had supposedly caused all the trouble at Prudence's house, but she looked a bonny little thing to him. And he didn't want the evening to finish like a damp squib. 'Well, you just go straight ahead then, eh? What are you goin' to sing?'

Josie turned to the fiddlers who were taking the opportunity to drain their tankards. 'Do you know "Masks and Faces"?' she asked. The song about a virtuous maiden which Jenny Hill had made popular years before was one of her favourites and had always gone down well in Sunderland. Josie was quite unaware that part of the appeal was her own fresh innocence and beauty which made the song all the more poignant.

As the fiddlers struck up the first few bars, Prudence's caustic words about her mother were burning in Josie's head. Calling her mam a sponger and saying that they were all sc.u.m! Josie's small chin raised itself higher. Well, they might not have a lot of money but she would make sure she paid Vera and Betty every single penny due to them, oh aye, she would. And she'd show Prudence the night! She'd sing like she'd never sung before. Her da might be no better than he should be, but that wasn't her fault or her mam's, and her mam couldn't help being poorly all the time either. Prudence was horrible, she was.

Her head was so full that she missed her cue to sing, and as the fiddlers began again and Josie's cheeks reddened, she happened to catch sight of Prudence who was now standing leaning against the wall on the far side of the room. The other girl was smirking nastily, and nothing could have sent the adrenalin pumping more. She'd show her, she would.

And she did.

Barney was sitting with his new wife on one side and his in-laws on the other when Josie began to sing, and as the room went quiet - much the same as it had that night five years ago in the Mariners' Arms on Custom House Quay - he found he was holding his breath. He couldn't believe that the voice pouring forth out of the small frame was from the young la.s.s he'd got to know so well lately. In one of their late-night talks she'd mentioned she'd sung in a few of the pubs in Sunderland, but this . . . This wasn't just singing, this was . . . His mind struggled to find words to match his emotion and failed. He glanced dazedly about the room for a second and saw the same wonder on other faces. She'd captured them all and was holding them entranced. What a voice! 'By, lad.' His father-in-law leaned across, his voice reflecting his surprise. 'She's a show-stopper, all right. You know she'd got a voice on her?'

Barney shook his head. 'No, not till now.'

'Look at our Ernest, he was near nodding off a minute ago.'

Barney glanced across the room to where Stanley's brother was sitting, and saw the small man, who managed Ginnett's Amphitheatre in Northumberland Road, straining forward in his seat, his eyes riveted on the small figure in the middle of the room.

'Don't be surprised if he wants to book her in for a few nights,' Stanley continued. 'He was saying just the other day they need a bit of new blood, and he'd pay well. Gets some canny acts, does old Ernest, and many a one has gone on to make a name for themselves.'

'Book her in?' Barney was talking to Stanley but his eyes were fixed on Josie. 'She's just a little la.s.sie.'

'Thirteen in January according to your Betty,' Stanley answered. 'She won't be a bairn much longer.'

Barney drew in a long, deep breath. There was a vague feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't place, similar to the sensation he'd had at school when he knew he'd missed something vital in one of the examinations old Walton used to love to set them. His brow wrinkled in bewilderment. But nothing was wrong, this was his wedding day, for crying out loud, and it had been a grand day. Grand.

Nevertheless, when Pearl stirred at the side of him and her voice came, tight and scratchy, saying, 'Forward little piece, isn't she! I can see what Prudence means now,' his own was uncharacteristically harsh as he replied, 'Prudence doesn't know what she's talking about,' and not at all as one would expect an ardent groom to address his radiant bride on their wedding day.

Barney was instantly contrite, turning quickly to face Pearl and taking her smooth hands in his as he said quietly, 'I'm the luckiest man alive. You know that, don't you? There's not one here today who wouldn't step into my shoes, given half a chance.'

'Oh, you.' Mollified, Pearl smiled sweetly.

'How much longer do we have to stay?' Barney murmured. 'I want to have you all to myself.'

'Silly.' Pearl extracted her hands from his, stretching out the left one in order to admire the rose-gold wedding band nestling next to the garnet and pearl engagement ring. 'We've got years and years together.'

She was quite aware of what Barney had meant, however, and felt a moment's sharp irritation that he had to bring that up now, at their wedding feast when she was having such a lovely time. All through their courts.h.i.+p Barney had wanted to fondle and touch her; men were such base creatures. Her mam had told her she had to set the tone regarding the physical side of married life right from the start, and she intended to. She wasn't quite sure exactly what was involved, but her mother had said it wasn't pleasant but had to be endured - within moderation, that was.

That being the case, she was in no rush for this special day to be over. She'd looked forward to it for so long: wearing her beautiful dress and veil and looking like a princess; walking down the aisle and hearing everyone gasp in admiration; all their friends and family coming back here and making a fuss of her, and all the lovely presents for her dear little house which she'd got just the way she wanted it . . .

And she was going to sort Barney out. She wasn't going to have him working in the concrete factory much longer, not when Uncle Ernest had already made it plain he'd take him on. She didn't want a fellow who came home each night covered in dirt and filth and messed everything up, and everyone knew the music halls were where the money was. If they were successful, that was, and her Uncle Ernest's theatre was very successful. Barney could dress smartly when he liked and he looked good in a suit. Pearl slanted a glance at her new husband under her eyelashes. Yes, she'd make something of Barney all right, now he was out of that dreadful hole of a place in Spring Garden Lane. She had never once visited there without a mental shudder at the lack of cleanliness, and if she had her way they would cut the contact completely, especially now Prudence lived elsewhere.

Pearl's light opaque eyes travelled round the room until they rested briefly on Prudence's ample frame. Poor Prudence. There was no real sympathy in the thought, rather an underlying satisfaction as her gaze took in the squat body and unattractive face. She would never marry, of course, not looking like that. Pearl glanced down at her own slim tight figure in the clouds of satin. But unmarried women were always useful to have in a family. Someone you could call on at a moment's notice and know they would always be willing to help, whatever the ch.o.r.e. When the bairns came she could envisage Prudence living with them at some point, especially if everything went according to plan and Barney went up in the world. She'd like to be the kind of wife who had people round for dinner and that sort of thing, and Prudence could be . . . well, not exactly a servant, of course. Pearl paused reflectively. But someone who saw to the children and dealt with the mundane. Of course that wouldn't happen for years yet, but as her mother always said, it didn't hurt to plan for the future.

The sound of uproarious applause jolted Pearl out of her thoughts and brought her gaze on Josie, who was now blus.h.i.+ng and smiling in the centre of the room. Pearl glanced round and saw that every eye was on the small figure; even her father was shouting for another song.

She bit her lip with vexation. This was her day, not that of this troublemaker who'd been thrust upon them. Personally she didn't know what the fuss was about. Anyone could open their mouth and sing a song, for goodness' sake. She slanted a glance at Barney, and saw he was clapping as hard as the rest, and although Pearl had brushed his attention away just a minute or so before and had wanted him to leave her alone, now, perversely, she felt extremely hard done by. Barney had neglected her enough for this chit!

'I want to dance again.' She stood up as she spoke, her voice high and sharp as she flicked at the table in front of her. 'Da, tell them to move these tables back so we can dance.'

'Aye, aye all right, la.s.s. In a minute.'

'Now.'

Josie had to work her way through a crowd of folk who all wanted to say how well she had sung before she could reach her mother and Vera, who were now sitting on a long bench against the wall, their table having been one of the first to be taken away.

There was a small man sitting on the other side of Vera but Josie didn't pay him any attention as her mother said, immediately she saw her, 'Ee, hinny, that were grand, right grand. Brought to mind some of the sing-songs we had at home when your da was out. You remember, la.s.s?'

'Aye, I remember, Mam.' Josie smiled at her mother's pleasure. She'd stand and sing all day long if it brought that look to her mam's face.

'An' now . . .' s.h.i.+rley's voice was suddenly pensive, 'scattered here, there an' everywhere, the lot o' us. Mind, I'm not complainin', la.s.s. Never had it so good as at Vera's. But me mind goes to the lads at times; whether your da is lookin' after 'em right.'

'Jimmy will take care of himself and Hubert, you know that, Mam. If anyone can handle Da, Jimmy can.' She didn't add that the reason for this was because her brother understood the way her father's mind worked, being so like him.

'Aye, you're right there, me bairn. By, you are. An' I dare say in a month or two the lot of 'em will turn up like bad pennies. Mind, your da'll get a gliff then, 'cos I'm not budgin' from Vera's.'

'Josie,' Vera cut in before s.h.i.+rley could say any more, 'this is Mr Harper, an' he wants a word with you, la.s.s. He's somethin' important to say.'

Josie smiled and said, 'How do you do?' to Mr Harper, but her mind was mainly on her mother's last words, along with the two figures on the dance-floor. The fiddlers had just begun to play a lively tune and Pearl had swept on to the floor with her new husband, smiling and nodding at everyone as they clapped the bridal pair.

'It's like this, la.s.s.' Ernest Harper was not a man who wasted words. 'I'm looking for a fill-in for a couple of nights at Ginnett's, you know? Northumberland Road? I had a canny musical clown with a violin but he upped an' skedaddled south last week.'

'He did?' Josie didn't have a clue what Mr Harper was talking about.

'Aye. Now I've got a nice comedian who plays the bagpipes an' banjo an' a one-string fiddle an' goodness knows what, an' he has been doing extra an' standing in, but old Joey had got a right canny voice, an' that's what's needed. They like a tune, you see, an' I've only one other singer at present, although I've wizards an' ventriloquists an' acrobats coming out of me ears.'